


In A Manner Of Speaking

by ifucked_thatburrito



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, dance, teaching how to dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifucked_thatburrito/pseuds/ifucked_thatburrito
Summary: Set in a 50s Spy AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Val, Yason, Maret and Quynn all belong to the lovely Sebesun on Tumblr :)
> 
> The second chapter is an alternate ending, so if you'd rather have a kiss at the end... read the next chapter instead ;)
> 
> This is the song they were dancing along to - https://youtu.be/zXhLFb34nz4

“So, you want me to get you all invitations to a gala, dance, party thing, so that you can get in and pretend to be investigating Kovilov, that is actually a set up so that Darcy gets caught? Am I correct?”

The spy nodded.

Martel shook his head, and pulled a cigarette from his black suit pocket, lighting up and taking a drag, letting the smoke trickle from his mouth as he leaned against the wall, “What do I get in exchange?”

Yason cleared his throat, and stared the pale man directly in the eyes, a daring move, considering, “You get to live. And carry on with whatever you have going on with Valentine.” Causing the younger man to scoff, taking another drag on his cigarette, “I would consider this wisely. We know about your brother.”

Martel froze briefly, fingers holding the cigarette to his mouth, before he took it away, rubbing at his nose with his left hand,

How the fuck did they know about Alek? _No one_ knew about Alek. He’d covered everything perfectly, there’s even a letter to confirm his death from the 'sergeant' . As far as anyone knew, Aleksander van Wieren was _dead_ and that was that. No one knew his true fate.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied calmly, but the slight tremor in his hand betrayed his shock, “Alek died 8 years ago during the war.”

The spy smiled, pleased that he was able to ruffle the stoic man, “Oh I think you do. And come now, no need to get your brother in trouble, that would be so selfish. What would your mother think?”

Martel’s eye widened dangerously, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the silver ashtray, “Don’t. Or I swear to god you will be _dead_ before you even blink.”

Yason’s smirk grew into a wry grin and he clasped his hands together, “So you agree to our terms? That’s wonderful. Now, of course you will have to make an appearance. So, tell me, do you dance, van Wieren?”

Raising a sculpted brow, and shook his head, "No. I don't." Martel likes to say he just 'doesn't dance', but the truth is a lot more embarrassing to say the least, especially for someone who looks as suave as he does, the truth is..

"Well you're going to have to, it's imperative that you make an appearance, of course. Do you know how to dance?" Yason asked with a smirk, already knowing the ebony haired man's answer,

He hesitated, before he shook his head, tapping his long fingers on the table, with his lip curled up in a slightly embarrassed grimace.

Yason bit the inside of his lip to quell the amused grin that threatened to rise up, "Well, that won't do, someone will have to teach you-"

There was a sudden knock at the door to Yason's office, immediately breaking the tension, much to both men's relief,

"You may enter."

The door opened to Maret peaking her head in, "Sorry to interrupt, my dears, but we now have a location for Kovilov's house and the guest list to the party, should I proceed as follows?"

Yason turned and nodded, a pleased smile gracing his face, "Yes, thanks Maret, but before you do that, there's no chance of you fetching Val for me, is there?"

The brunette raised an elegant brow, "I'm not your slave, Yason, but yes, I will out of the kindness of my own heart." she quipped and with a wink left promptly,

\----x----

Val and Martel stood in the middle of a large room. The floor was wooden, and the ceiling was relatively high for the age of the building. The room was within the house that had become Dragon HQ, that had previously been used as a banquet room, or something of the sort, due to the aged paintings along the dark mahogany walls. All that was in this room was a single brass record player, a couch, and a table with an ornate vase .

The red headed man released the vinyl record from its sleeve, and placed it in the record player, but before he turned it on, he turned to Martel, "So, do you know _any_ dances?" he asked,

Martel stood there in a white shirt, black waist coat and trousers, his hands in his pockets as he stood there nonchalantly, gazing out the window, until Val spoke, and he jolted to look at him, "Sorry?"

"Do you know any dances? I'm supposed to teach you to dance, and I was wondering whether you know any dances."

The taller man shook his head, and brought his hands out of his pockets, once again drifting into space, but this time watching Val in his looser white shirt, as he turned around, rolled up the sleeves and bent over, his beautifully round arse hugged by those fitted black trousers, oh what he'd do to that man if he had the chance...

Martel blinked back to reality when said irishman cleared his throat, biting his lip with a coy smile and turning back around to flick the switch and place the needle down, starting the record.

The soft piano reverberated through the room as Val adjusted his suspenders and casually walked up to Martel, "Okay, we'll start with a simple waltz, alright? Now place your left hand on my shoulder, since I'm going to be the Lead. I'll put my right hand on your waist and we'll put our free hands together like this, and hold them out."

Val could sense the awkward tension in the others body, from the slippery palms to the fact that he was standing _way_ to far away, so he pulled him closer subtly, smirking, this could be fun. "The dance goes in a rhythm that you've probably heard of: _one_ , two, three, _one_ , two, three. Comprendé?"

He nodded,

"Good, so you move your feet like this..."

\---x---

It was 2 hours and 4 whole albums before Martel finally got the hang of it, just before Val was about to scream with frustration and _why can't you just fucking follow what I do?_

Val sighed heavily at the end of the last album, resisting the temptation to lay his head on Martel's shoulder, sure that he'd be stabbed in the gut for sure. "Okay, you seem to have got the hang of it now. Let's do a proper dance this time, no help from me, just going with the flow."

The red-haired man left to change the record, haunting, soft guitar and a high pitched female voice emanating from the record player.

Martel raised an eyebrow and took position with a playful smirk as Val came back, but dropped his arms when Val just smiled and bit his lip, "What?"

Looking up at the taller man through his long, ginger lashes, Val took hold of Martel's wrist and placed his hand at his waist, and slid his hand up his toned arm to his shoulder, clasping their other hands together. The red head smiled coyly, "I think you should Lead this time."

Martel raised both his brows this time, "But what if-"

The shorter man shushed him and brought him closer, "You won't. Now quickly, before the song ends."

Martel took a deep breath before taking the first step, and the second, Val following perfectly, before the dance began to flow like water.

The two twisted and turned, Martel executing the occasional playful dip, earning a giggle and exasperated smile from his partner. The sincere lyrics and the calming sound of Val's quiet singing along made it seem like the singer was singing about them.

Before today, every attempt at dancing Martel had, had ended in utter failure, maybe due to his own stubbornness, or the fact that the people he was dancing with were never as persistent, skilled (or as drop-dead _gorgeous_ ) as Val was. And as they moved together to the music Martel realised that he, as cheesy as it sounds, had never felt more at peace with himself than he did at that moment with Val pressed against him.

As the song slowed and neared its end, the couple's dance did too, until they came to a complete stop. Their eyes lingered on each other's, swimming and searching, drowning out any and all other noise, the gap between them closing slowly,

Until there was a crash as the door to the room swung open that made the pair rip apart as fast as possible, Val pretending to admire the pretty vase next to the settee (that had been moved to accommodate the pair so they could practise), with Martel agreeing and nodding along.

Quynn stood at the door with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He knew, but chose to ignore it... until later when he gets Val alone. "Yason sent me to collect you two, if you're done?"

The two men answered at the same time, Martel protesting that they weren't finished, and Val saying how they were and that he was ready to leave as he was.

Watching the pair, Quynn shook his head, smiling, "Come on guys, we've got a briefing."


	2. Chapter 2

“So, you want me to get you all invitations to a gala, dance, party thing, so that you can get in and pretend to be investigating Kovilov, that is actually a set up so that Darcy gets caught? Am I correct?”

The spy nodded.

Martel shook his head, and pulled a cigarette from his black suit pocket, lighting up and taking a drag, letting the smoke trickle from his mouth as he leaned against the wall, “What do I get in exchange?”

Yason cleared his throat, and stared the pale man directly in the eyes, a daring move, considering, “You get to live. And carry on with whatever you have going on with Valentine.” Causing the younger man to scoff, taking another drag on his cigarette, “I would consider this wisely. We know about your brother.”

Martel froze briefly, fingers holding the cigarette to his mouth, before he took it away, rubbing at his nose with his left hand,

How the fuck did they know about Alek? _No one_ knew about Alek. He’d covered everything perfectly, there’s even a letter to confirm his death from the 'sergeant'. As far as anyone knew, Aleksander van Wieren was _dead_ and that was that. No one knew his true fate.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied calmly, but the slight tremor in his hand betrayed his shock, “Alek died 8 years ago during the war.”

The spy smiled, pleased that he was able to ruffle the stoic man, “Oh I think you do. And come now, no need to get your brother in trouble, that would be so selfish. What would your mother think?”

Martel’s eye widened dangerously, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the silver ashtray, “Don’t. Or I swear to god you will be dead before you even blink.”

Yason’s smirk grew into a wry grin and he clasped his hands together, “So you agree to our terms? That’s wonderful. Now, of course you will have to make an appearance. So, tell me, do you dance, van Wieren?”

Raising a sculpted brow, and shook his head, "No. I don't." Martel likes to say he just 'doesn't dance', but the truth is a lot more embarrassing to say the least, especially for someone who looks as suave as he does, the truth is...

"Well you're going to have to, it's imperative that you make an appearance, of course. Do you know _how_ to dance?" Yason asked with a smirk, already knowing the ebony haired man's answer,

He hesitated, before he shook his head, tapping his long fingers on the table, with his lip curled up in a slightly embarrassed grimace.

Yason bit the inside of his lip to quell the amused grin that threatened to rise up, "Well, that won't do, someone will have to teach you-"

There was a sudden knock at the door to Yason's office, immediately breaking the tension, much to both men's relief,

"You may enter."

The door opened to Maret peaking her head in, "Sorry to interrupt, my dears, but we now have a location for Kovilov's house and the guest list to the party, should I proceed as follows?"

Yason turned and nodded, a pleased smile gracing his face, "Yes, thanks Maret, but before you do that, there's no chance of you fetching Val for me, is there?"

The brunette raised an elegant brow, "I'm not your slave, Yason, but yes, I will out of the kindness of my own heart." she quipped and with a wink left promptly,

\----x----

Val and Martel stood in the middle of a large room. The floor was wooden, and the ceiling was relatively high for the age of the building. The room was within the house that had become Dragon HQ, that had previously been used as a banquet room, or something of the sort, due to the aged paintings along the dark mahogany walls. All that was in this room was a single brass record player, a couch, and a table with an ornate vase .

The red headed man released the vinyl record from its sleeve, and placed it in the record player, but before he turned it on, he turned to Martel, "So, do you know _any_ dances?" he asked,

Martel stood there in a white shirt, black waist coat and trousers, his hands in his pockets as he stood there nonchalantly, gazing out the window, until Val spoke, and he jolted to look at him, "Sorry?"

"Do you know any dances? I'm supposed to teach you to dance, and I was wondering whether you know any dances."

The taller man shook his head, and brought his hands out of his pockets, once again drifting into space, but this time watching Val in his looser white shirt, as he turned around, rolled up the sleeves and bent over, his beautifully round arse hugged by those fitted black trousers, oh what he'd do to that man if he had the chance...

Martel blinked back to reality when said irishman cleared his throat, biting his lip with a coy smile and turning back around to flick the switch and place the needle down, starting the record.

The soft piano reverberated through the room as Val adjusted his suspenders and casually walked up to Martel, "Okay, we'll start with a simple waltz, alright? Now place your left hand on my shoulder, since I'm going to be the Lead. I'll put my right hand on your waist and we'll put our free hands together like this, and hold them out."

Val could sense the awkward tension in the others body, from the slippery palms to the fact that he was standing _way_ to far away, so he pulled him closer subtly, smirking, this could be fun. "The dance goes in a rhythm that you've probably heard of: _one_ , two, three, _one_ , two, three. Comprendé?"

He nodded,

"Good, so you move your feet like this..."

\---x---

It was 2 hours and 4 whole albums before Martel finally got the hang of it, just before Val was about to scream with frustration and _why can't you just fucking follow what I do?_

Val sighed heavily at the end of the last album, resisting the temptation to lay his head on Martel's shoulder, sure that he'd be stabbed in the gut for sure. "Okay, you seem to have got the hang of it now. Let's do a proper dance this time, no help from me, just going with the flow."

The red-haired man left to change the record, haunting, soft guitar and a high pitched female voice emanating from the record player.

Martel raised an eyebrow and took position with a playful smirk as Val came back, but dropped his arms when Val just smiled and bit his lip, "What?"

Looking up at the taller man through his long, ginger lashes, Val took hold of Martel's wrist and placed his hand at his waist, and slid his hand up his toned arm to his shoulder, clasping their other hands together. The red head smiled coyly, "I think you should Lead this time."

Martel raised both his brows this time, "But what if-"

The shorter man shushed him and brought him closer, "You won't. Now quickly, before the song ends."

Martel took a deep breath before taking the first step, and the second, Val following perfectly, before the dance began to flow like water.

The two twisted and turned, Martel executing the occasional playful dip, earning a giggle and exasperated smile from his partner. The sincere lyrics and the calming sound of Val's quiet singing along made it seem like the singer was singing about them.

Before today, every attempt at dancing Martel had, had ended in utter failure, maybe due to his own stubbornness, or the fact that the people he was dancing with were never as persistent, skilled (or as drop-dead _gorgeous_ ) as Val was. And as they moved together to the music Martel realised that he, as cheesy as it sounds, had never felt more at peace with himself than he did at that moment with Val pressed against him.

As the song slowed and neared its end, the couple's dance did too, until they came to a complete stop. Their eyes lingered on each other's, swimming and searching and drowning out any and all other noise as the gap between them closed.

Their lips touched gingerly, testing the waters, until Martel pressed forwards and they kissed softly, as Val slid his hands around the taller man's neck, cupping the back of his head and weaving his strong fingers through Martel's soft black hair while the taller man's elegant hands dropped down to caress his arse.

When they both pulled away, the song was finished and they remained centimetres away from each other, examining the others features, gauging reactions, until they both leaned in again.

Their second kiss was rougher than the first, with a sense of desperation and _where have you been all my life?_ Martel slipped his tongue past the red head's lips, both moaning softly as the kiss was deepened and calmed to a more exploratory embrace, both mapping the others body through their clothes as they kissed languidly.

When the pair finally separated, Val laid his head on Martel's shoulder, leaning on the taller man as they stood wondering what the fuck _that_ was,

A number of times, one of then attempted to speak, but nothing happened,

"I... care for you, Val." The black haired man started, "Quite a lot, it would seem."

The red head lifted his head off of Martel's shoulder, and stared at the man bleary eyed, dazed, and processing the information, and that's when he blushed furiously, and hid his face in the crook of the others neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and pine that always seemed to linger around Martel's person, "I care for you too."

The taller man smiled, and buried his face in the thick ginger curls atop Val's head.

 


End file.
